


Of Ren

by hexnhart



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Lovers, Hallucinations/Madness, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Use of the Force, M/M, No happy ending! I fucked up, Psychological Torture, Snoke is a manipulative shit, Warm-up, a handmaid's tale, but we already knew that, fucking up canon because i can, living in a trashcompactor, post-EPVII
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:12:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5798371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hexnhart/pseuds/hexnhart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>General Hux delivers Snoke's star pupil so that his training may be completed. But something is off in the ranks of the Knights of Ren; and it is enough to make Hux question his allegiance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grey

‘Bring Ren to me. It is time to complete his training.’ Hux ran the Supreme Leader’s words through his head as the shuttle slid noiselessly through the velvety black of space, carrying Kylo Ren and himself to Object 3472-c, Snoke’s domain. The General wasn’t one to question orders, but something about this particular phrase rang odd. If Ren’s training was far from completion, why send him to such a vital object as Starkiller, the base they just lost at least partially due to Ren’s incompetence (Hux didn’t believe in chance circumstances and having someone to blame for the foiled plans made the defeat a little more bearable)? Alternatively, if the Knight was sufficiently apt, why pull him out of the action when their strength was depleted and every ship in the fleet could do with a Force-user. What skills could the Supreme Leader possibly impart on the Knight that would change their dire position? What training would be useful to a mauled boy, who was out of breath after walking five paces and refused to meet Hux’s eye, let alone talk to him?

  
Ren had sustained severe damage in his fight with the girl, something even bio-gel and intensive surgery had trouble amending; now he was a husk of his former self, tucking himself into corners like some wild thing. Everything about him was wrong, but then everything was wrong to begin with: this whole Force malarkey, the destruction of Starkiller, the map to Skywalker, Snoke’s orders. Hux felt as though his carefully ordered world was unravelling around him, like his own skin no longer fit. And the Knight’s obstinacy did nothing to alleviate his anxiety.

  
They wound in and out of hyperspace, to avoid being tracked, skirting populous routes and developed systems. The shuttle housed Ren, the General and two unfortunate Stormtroopers, doubling as pilots, who generally tried to make themselves scarce. Hux held no illusions on their account, but then they would help keep up appearances when Ren returned to whatever training facility they were currently approaching. It always looks good to have a pair of troopers trailing you as you walk down a gangway. Somehow, after the fiasco of the preceding weeks, Hux doubted appearances would help him.

  
“General, exiting hyperspace in thirty.” A Stormtrooper’s expressionless voice snapped Hux out of his reverie. They were approaching their destination.  
“Yes. I will ensure Lord Ren is ready.”

  
He could almost hear the Stormtrooper sigh in relief – no one in the First Order would willingly interact with Ren and since the incident with the girl he was avoided like the plague. Hux did not care by this point; their brief silent interactions gave him something to do, taking his mind off the urge of scratching itself raw. Sometimes he wondered if the Knight appreciated their time together as much. He occupied a cabin in the rear of the shuttle, opposite the General’s own, and that is where Hux made his way, tapping on the door before waving it open anyway.

  
“Ren, touch-down in half an hour.” Used to the silent treatment, the red-head didn’t look at the room’s occupant immediately, choosing to pick a crumpled shirt off the floor. These small actions of tidiness calmed him. “You might want to…”

  
Hux’s gaze skimmed the bed and the figure curled up under the standard-issue blanket. Kylo Ren was asleep, his face half-buried in the pillow as if he was trying to subconsciously hide the scar that blazed across it. This was the first time he’s seen Kylo asleep, the General noted with faint surprise; usually Ren would be sitting on the floor by the cot, knees drawn up to his chest, glaring at the door. Up to this moment, Hux doubted his charge did anything else for the duration of their journey, but there he was, curled up and oddly vulnerable in his sleep. The Knight did not look peaceful – little frowns and twitches passed along his brow, already creased by the scar – but at least he wasn’t projecting hate at every living and mechanical thing in the vicinity. Kylo looked young, too, and innocent for the sadistic killer that he was.

Hux caught himself staring and turned away hastily. Then, cringing at his nervousness, he forced himself to approach Kylo’s prone form and shake him by the shoulder. The softness of his touch was dictated by the caution against disturbing Ren’s wounds, nothing more. Definitely nothing more.

  
“Ren…”

  
Kylo’s eyes shot open, his breathing picking up pace as he saw someone encroaching into his personal space. Hux promptly stepped back, his hand dropping to his side.

  
“What is it, General?” his voice was still husky with sleep or with disuse and the red-head did not immediately notice that Ren dropped his silent protest.

  
“We will be arriving soon. I suggest you get ready.”

  
“Yes.” Kylo sat up on the narrow cot, placing his feet on the cold floor gingerly. Like a cat testing water, Hux noted despite himself. “If that is all, you may leave.”

  
Why, that insolent brat! His face uncomfortably hot, the General strode out of the cabin, feeling like an utter fool. He made it to the cockpit before feeling calm enough to stop. But then again, the little embarrassment would keep his mind occupied for a while, as would the careful mental filing of Ren’s features, the soft lines of his sleeping face. Anything to alleviate boredom and the sense of hopelessness.

  
“Exiting hyperspace now. Destination at forty degrees starboard.” One of the Stormtroopers informed him helpfully. The ship shuddered and the darkness around it resolved into constellations and a greyish-blue moon obscuring most of the frontal screen. They started their descent.

  
Object 3472-c had no other name, nor did it need one, since its only inhabitants (as far as Hux was aware) were the megalomaniac leader of the First Order and a bunch of homicidal warriors known as the Knights of Ren (if Kylo was anything to go by). Largely covered in deciduous forest, with a band of planes along the equator, the moon was a damp chilly place with minimal climate variation from pole to pole. The grey colouring was due to the thick sheath of cloud that encased the atmosphere, dousing the forests in sleet. The Object was, according to Hux, an embodiment of apathy. He had a hard time envisaging what enlightenment could be gained there.

  
As the shuttle slid through the cloud layer, Ren appeared in the cockpit, glaring down at the approaching ground much to the pilots’ discomfort. They exchanged guarded glances, trying to guide the craft as smoothly as possible, but still skipping a little on the unfamiliar landing pad. The bay door hissed open, letting in a damp wind and the cold light of early morning. Or maybe this was how light always looked in this dismal place. Before the engines shut down completely, Master Ren and General Hux were striding side by side onto the landing pad, the Stormtroopers scrambling to keep up with them. In front of them, beyond the guiding lights, two lines of figures were lined up at attention – the first glimpse Hux had of the fabled Knights of Ren. Clad in grey, as drab and uninviting as the scenery around them, coloured sashes crossing their chests – the only bright spots in vicinity, the warriors stood with statuesque stillness, men and women alike, some no older than fifteen. The General had time to examine the rows as he passed down their length towards a wide granite staircase leading up to what he could only describe as a castle – a squat structure with hexagonal towers at its corners and long slits replacing windows in the upper levels. As the commanders ascended the staircase, the knights behind them turned in unison and started filing up as well, all in complete silence. A little alarm bell went off in Hux’s head. This was not the return of a leader to his squadron. Phasma got more admiration from her regiment, who were terrified of her, than these knights offered their master. It almost seemed like they did not recognise him. Ren did not seem to pay them any attention either, hood pulled low and, in the absence of the helmet that was blown to smithereens along with Starkiller, rough cloth covering the lower half of his face. Or perhaps he was focusing on walking in a straight line and not clutching his side, where the burn no doubt still throbbed painfully.

  
The massive doors to the ante-chamber stood ajar, letting gusts of wind blow rain across the grey floors. In the wall opposite to the entrance a projector was set, emitting a sickly green beam of light that resolved into an all too familiar seated figure. Hux rolled his shoulders, all too aware of how his skin stretched and hung uncomfortably, like an ill-fitting uniform.

  
“You have done well, General Hux,” Snoke’s voice echoed through the cold air, “in delivering Kylo Ren to me you have partially excused the setback that was the loss of Starkiller Base. Now that your objective is complete, rest here for several days. There will be more for you to do in due course.”

  
Hux nodded tersely, hoping that no other response was expected from him.

  
“Master, I…” without waiting to be spoken to, Kylo tilted his face up to the towering hologram; but Snoke waved him silent impatiently.

  
“You have nothing to impart that I am not already privy to, Kylo Ren.” The Supreme Leader looked beyond him, to where the knights still stood as a living wall between the newcomers and the only escape route, “Lorna, escort Lord Ren and General Hux to their quarters.”

  
A woman with a short functional haircut stepped out of the row, her grey robe crossed by a red sash. She bowed to the Supreme Leader before motioning the newcomers to follow and disappearing down a side corridor that snaked to their left. Hux and Ren also bowed, the latter a little stiffly, and followed Lorna. Hux’s mind was screaming, bubbles of nonsensical observations doing somersaults inside his cranium. Nothing was right: the placid knights, who apparently had nothing better to do than to parade in front of their returning leader, but betrayed no emotions, no reaction at all to said leader’s return or to the changes in him; Snoke outright commending him for his ‘good work’, that was a definite first; and didn’t he need to discuss the training with Kylo instead of refusing to speak to him? The feeling of ill-fitting skin was back, tugging at the nape of his neck and shoulder-blades.

Was this what it was like to be Ren?


	2. Mauve

The woman’s step had an odd sway to it, the General noted, probably due to one of her legs being replaced by a matte black prosthetic. A complex mechanism in the ankle compressed with every step, giving out a barely audible hiss. Her robes identified her as one of the higher members of the Order, yet there was something dejected in the woman’s gait, the set of her shoulders, as if she constantly expected a blow.

Hux didn’t have sufficient time for further observation, as their guide pushed open a door, one of many in the bland corridor. They did take a few turns, but the view beyond the corner was identical to the one preceding it.

“General Hux, your quarters.” She motioned through the door, face half-turned to him in the sickly light.

“Thank you, Commander Lorna Ren.” No harm is a little flattery. He made her rank a question – just below the title of Master – expecting some muttered denial or a smile. In vain. From Lorna’s expression, she might as well not have heard him. Maybe she was a Commander after all, she well could have been, but then she might’ve asked how he knew.

This was of little consequence. Having nodded his farewells to the knights, Hux entered his new abode. The pair started walking down the corridor before the door closed; they remained silent all the way down until Lorna pointed out a similarly uninspiring room for Kylo to occupy. Observing as much, the General resigned himself to waiting. That was the first day.

The next thing the General became aware of was that the blanket didn’t quite cover his feet and, in trying to fit under its measly length, he kept bumping his knees against the wall.

“Lights at twenty.” He murmured automatically. Drat these shuttle cots and the thin regulation blankets; he made a mental note of increasing the budget allowance for Stormtrooper bedding. There was no light.

“Lights at twenty. FN-unit, report.”

It was still very quiet and dark. Which, combined with the fact that Hux could not recall going to bed, was mildly inconvenient. Groping around in the unfamiliar setting, the man managed to locate an archaic light switch – just a panel depressed into the wall. Sickly shortwave light flooded the room, and it wasn’t the room on the shuttle, nor was it one on the _Finalizer_. He was flying somewhere, yes, that’s why he was in a shuttle. Why would he be going somewhere without a decent escort? Ah, Ren. Hux grasped at the familiar name as the memories started to float out of the sickly light around him, like swirls of silt from the bottom of a pool. He delivered Ren to Snoke’s citadel and was ordered to await further instructions. That’s right. All clear now. His body felt uncharacteristically stiff, like he slept a couple days instead of a few hours.

The General slipped out of bed, berating himself for being so affected by the damp chill, and padded to the door he presumed was the bathroom. It wasn’t. It was a cupboard, with a single set of grey robes hanging on a rail. The red-head swore profusely. Now his skin was crawling with unwanted touch: the air, the grey walls, the blasted light – Hux felt like they clawed at him from the outside just as his mind scrambled inside him. He’d never lost his bearing in this manner before.

His knees hurt more than they would if he’d had them pressed against the wall in his sleep, more like he had been kneeling, for hours. And the coarse weave of the robes chafed against his skin like tiny barbs on some monstrous crustacean’s pincers, but there was nothing else. Hux inspected the clothes he arrived in: supple, creased, smelling of charred plastic and, very faintly, of Corellian gorse, his little vanity – no, definitely not wearing that.

Shrugging into the grey fabric as fast as he could, the General stepped out into the dimly-lit corridor. Were they saving energy here? The man could not explain the poor lighting any other way. That, or creating an especially dreary atmosphere for the monastic order. Deprivation of the flesh, that kind of thing. All the knights he saw so far definitely had a gaunt look about them, but that wasn’t it. They were as shells - more of less whole physically, completely empty inside. Then Hux remembered Ren’s tantrums, the unadulterated wrath of them, and decided to review his conclusion about emptiness.

“Speak of the devil.” (or rather, think) the red-head murmured as he saw Master Ren emerging from his room. He looked like he hadn’t slept and had an odd jumpy quality to him. Noticing Hux, Kylo inhaled sharply, as if to say something, then thought better of it, and just nodded. The General stopped several paces away, painfully aware that he needed a shower, and, judging by his appearance, so did Ren.

“It is advisable that you check in with the med-ward here. Your wounds may still reopen, especially if the training you are to undertake is of a physical sort.” Hux offered rather blandly. When did he become Ren’s mother? Ah, yes, when Snoke dumped this ridiculous human amoeba on him. Maybe he was going mad, like his own mother had, expending more and more unnecessary care. There was the episode in the shuttle to take into account as well. Hux wondered whether he began losing his mind as soon as he stepped off that shuttle and passed between the ranks of expressionless knights. But that mode of thinking was preposterous – he went mad long before that. After Starkiller, everything he’d worked for, imploded under his feet, and all Snoke cared for was Ren. _Ren, Ren, Ren_! Like short precise scratches Hux’s idle mind left in his resolve.

Madness.

His mother.

Soft hands smelling of lavender, she always held his hair when he had those inconvenient nosebleeds, made him hold ice in his mouth. At least the General had no trouble confronting the memory of his family.

All the while, he was staring at Kylo, not really seeing him, but the other man offered no protest. When Hux returned to himself, Ren motioned vaguely down the corridor. “Food?”

“Hm? Washroom?”

“Ah, that way. Second left.”

The red-head almost thanked him, checking himself at the last moment. Thanks were for encouraging inferiors and appeasing dignitaries. The connection between Ren and himself was purely functional. But then there’s that look, out of the corner of his eyes, dark-brown, pupils blown, like he’s waiting for Hux’s mental scratches to start showing, for his skin to slough off in long strips, revealing something… something like the pain in his knees. The red-head had to internally order his feet to move before he could start walking.

The showers were surprisingly accommodating – a long row of tiled cubicles with chrome spigots above, hot water smelling of corrugated iron (blood or bad piping), soap that left Hux’s hair lank and lustreless, but at least there was soap to begin with. Having cleaned himself up to the best of his ability and bewailing the lack of a razor – his cheeks were covered in that embarrassing ginger fluff he always detested – the man made his way back up the corridor, presumably towards the mess hall. His initial observation was correct – the light in this place was always dim and cold, seeping in through narrow windows like rain. It was impossible to tell the time of day by it. Neither was it possible to identify the mess hall by its sounds. Hux may well have walked right past it, had it not been for the soft rustle, like the thrumming of a heat-lamp.

The room was small, hardly fitting more than 10 seating spaces and a narrow bar-like shelf at one end. Kylo was there, in the darkest corner as was to be expected, chasing a yellowish lump around his plate with a spoon.

“Ren.” At the General’s call all the five present individuals turned to him sharply, but it was not a movement of soldiers at attention. Instead, they all hunkered down, shoulder’s rounding, looking at him warily, with dim recognition. He froze for a moment, hands clasped behind his back, surveying the regiment and finding it wholly dissatisfactory. No, those were not his troops, he had no business to keep them in line. With an internal sigh Hux grabbed a tray with food from the bar and sat down without choosing a spot; his ears rang for no reason.

He happened to be sitting beside Lorna, who was watching him, out of the corner of her brown eye, like Kylo did.

“Are you not deterred by this?” Hux motioned to the sleek carbon-fibre prosthesis that replaced the woman’s left leg from the knee down.

She merely shrugged, “It was a fair fight. I lost.”

Somehow the General had no doubt whom she had lost to.

“And does the Supreme Leader condone such wanton destruction of his property?” at this the Knight stiffened, her hands flattening against her thighs.

“Each of us is ready to serve the Supreme Leader regardless of our injuries.” a typical answer that had nothing to do with the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments. Not much happens in this chapter - it's more about setting ground for future action.


	3. Magenta

Dreams were confusing.

At night he could feel the relentless grip constrict around his lungs, forcing breath out. Ren would wake up, kicking away the blanket, and see Hux perched, in the absence of chairs, at the end of his bed, outlined by the faint sheen of the night light.

“The fuck’re you staring?” Kylo wiped the cooling sweat from his forehead. He felt uncomfortably exposed under the General’s inquisitive gaze, like the older man could read his thoughts. Which, in hindsight, was a ridiculous notion. Only Force-users had that skill.

Hux shrugged – a grey cat in a grey room. “Can’t sleep.”

Not strictly true. Sleep became an enemy to Hux, a way of stealing time, disorienting him in this prison. But he’s the General, the stable one, he’s supposed to keep it together.

Ren was about to kick the intruder off his bed, but something in the ginger’s voice made him stay his foot, toes pressing against Hux’s hip. They sat silently for a while, tense in the absence of sound; no familiar rumble of the _Finalizer_ , nor the snatches of conversation from Stromtrooper units as they passed the door on their rounds.

“It’s quiet here.” The Knight offered, despite himself, drawing the blanket back up to cover his abdomen. He should have remembered it from before, should have taken the silence in as a part of himself, but somehow it felt alien. Not aggressive, though. The lack of aggression was what really disturbed him.

It was difficult to tell in the half-light, but Hux seemed to curl in on himself, listening to the silence, assessing it in the way he analysed everything he encountered. And coming to some unsatisfactory conclusions, if the crease of his pale eyebrows was any indicator. But it could have been a play of shadows. He was quite handsome, now that Ren had nothing better to do than to observe the fact, in an unconventional way: decisive features, sculpted of highlights only, menacing light even in this grey room, the fiery gold of his hair, that precise line running from his temple to the shadowed clavicle.

“I can hear you.” The General chuckled, flattered by Kylo’s observation of him. Maybe this silence did benefit some Force skills, made you feel everything finer, be more attuned. He was glad to have come, even if to listen to Ren’s vague mental projections on masculine beauty. The Knight himself, however, had other plans. He shuffled on the bed loudly, the whispers of his thoughts scattering and fleeing from Hux.

“Get out.”

The General did not need to be asked twice. He slowly uncurled from his cat-like stance, padding across the room barefoot. Somehow, even as the red-head slipped out of the door, Ren wanted to tell him that the corridors had grit and glass and that he really shouldn’t be going around without shoes. Hux’s feet seemed so delicate, his coming must have been a dream.

The next morning the General inspected the soles of his feet for cuts or dust – there weren’t any. As he suspected, the whole altercation of the previous night was an elaborate fantasy. There was no way he could have known that it was a nightmare that woke Ren up, no way he could hear the Knight’s thoughts about himself, and the thoughts would not be there in the first place, because Ren had no reason to think the other man was anything but mildly annoying. Definitely not beautiful. Of course not. Yet for the few hours he, for lack of a better word, _was_ Ren, felt his long wiry limbs as his own, and saw himself, General Hux, as if from the outside.

The episode was now a part of him, just like the loss of time and the supressed thoughts of self-harm. Hux needed a distraction, but sleep left him exhausted, drained in odd ways he could not explain. He tried to plan workout sessions or short forays into the beech forests that surrounded the Fortress, but after only a couple of days even walking from his room to the showers left him gasping for breath.

On inspection, the door of the cupboard where Hux kept his uniform was suitable for making little scratch-marks. The General would have preferred a data-pad or at least some paper, but none were available, so he scratched a thin line with the sharp edge of his belt’s buckle for every instance of lost time. The door was beginning to look like a forest of matchsticks. Then he slept, or maybe not.

Hux drifted out of sleep feeling hot and malleable – one of those fevers he would get occasionally. Usually, he’d gulp down some stimulating, paracetamol-heavy concoction and soldier on until the temperature and the fuzziness went away. But that mode of behaviour relied heavily on him having something to do. In his current position, the General nursed his illness like a curious flower, lounging in bed and allowing himself long scalding showers. Annoyingly, he was only getting worse (probably because between a warm bed and a warm shower there was a wind-swept damp corridor); but then again, with no orders forthcoming from Snoke, he might as well enjoy himself.

The memory gaps became longer and more frequent, especially with no way to reliably count time. Hux scavenged in the mess hall when he was hungry, slept for as long as his body would take remaining without movement and stumbled around the corridors the rest of the time. Nobody paid him any attention, hunched grey-clad figures ducked out of his way as he passed; and with time Hux too came to dread the quiet and expect a sudden blow or a choking sensation. He took to skimming the wall of the corridor with his hand when he walked, bare feet slapping on the stone, sometimes leaving sluggish red marks from the cuts on his soles. He tried to care, but the futility pressed on him so sweetly, left no will to fight. He would just close his eyes, waiting, rerunning the pain in his head.

Occasionally he wondered if the _Finalizer_ existed, if he had ever been a clean-shaven general, if the little indulgences of Corellian cologne and that neat hat he wore wee just an elaborate fantasy he had constructed because it was too dark and too quiet. Well, some of it must have been true. Hux built up on the existing memories, no matter how patchy, adding moments with Ren in the shuttle: the younger man asleep, his lips softly parted, almost serene. Ren would know what to do with this scratching sensation, the General was sure, he’d experienced it himself. But the Knight had Snoke to interpret all his noxious desires. About that, where was Snoke? Hux hasn’t been summoned for an audience even once and, judging by the lost look Kylo sported whenever they chanced upon one another, neither has he. Lady Hux ad that look about her. Oh yes, she insisted on keeping her title even after marriage. She knew most things and made up the rest, a convincing liar. ‘Look, the laser cannot split, but if we synchronise the spin here and send the beams like so…’ she helped her son with projects, beautiful in her audacity; there was something of her in Starkiller – a state-of-the-art love-child, too powerful, too unstable. Both were gone now. But there was a thing Lady Hux taught him, circumscribed above his father’s favourite motto ‘To be rather than to seem’ a line in her swift cursive ‘To do rather than to be’. Hux lived by those words. And now that he no longer knew who he was, he would keep going, he would get to the bottom of this, he would confront Ren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: Look, I did a Hux-centered fic  
> also me @ myself: Spoiled a good general is what you did! look,   
> it has anxiety!  
> *  
> I promise there will be a happy ending somewhere down the line, just bear with me,  
> just suffer for a little bit and things will become clear.


	4. Red

The Master of Ren was easy to find, if one followed the trail of destruction and the screams. Picking his way past the debris and what looked like jagged pieces torn out of the walls, Hux caught up with the rampaging Knight, in the process of dismembering a sturdy sideboard. Trailing the wall with bruised fingertips, Hux paused a couple paces behind Ren, waiting to be noticed. Finally, Kylo stopped to draw breath, dropping his weapon to his side. It was a lightsaber unfamiliar to Hux, pale and soulless as it faded off.

“I have questions.”

Ren turned to watch him warily, softly skimming the General’s mind for information. In other situations Hux would have bristled, but he had been too fatigued lately.

“Snoke knew he would not be able to control you directly, your resolve is too strong for that, so…” Kylo drew a hand across his face, tracing the puckered length of the scar, “he ordered me to break you. That way he would be able to manipulate you through me. He’s fearful of you.”

Hux would have laughed in his face, but something, a kind of sensation that is a precursor of memory, stopped him. The first day. Two lines of grey-robed, starved creatures who’d been called Knights by a cruel mistake. Ren, clutching at his side, trying not to show how much it pained him – not the physical wound, but the injury of being among these creatures again, to become one of them just when he’d begun to find his feet in battle, even if he lost. Hux doggedly seized the sensation of being too small for his own body, unravelled it until it made sense. There it was. And with understanding came the memory.

Day one. He’d gone to the audience chamber; it was easy enough to find then at the top level of the fortress in the heart of the structure, a hollow heart. Snoke admitted him after only a cursory wait, sitting in his high chair in front of several monitors, but in the flesh now. The General had noted how oddly shrunken the figure of his commander looked compared to the hologram.

“With all due respect, the Order of Ren is not an efficiently functioning military group.” Hux hated circumlocution, “The individuals are too demoralized to be satisfactory fighters. Please consider revising training tactics if the Knights of Ren are to serve the First Order.”

Snoke regarded him for a few moments, unmoving and lizard-like, before speaking in his raspy voice. “You seem to be full of spirit yourself, General. Not demeaned by the loss of your grandiose project. An efficient fighter as always. This is commendable.” He took a pause the meaning of which Hux couldn’t perceive, “Perhaps too efficient. You were ordered to rest, not to pry or feel pity for my subjects.”

But any sensible officer would point out errors in their commander’s master plan, after all, it would only benefit the Order. Hux raised his eyes from where they were trained on the foot of Snoke’s dais, surprised. The Supreme Leader never struck him as insensible to the needs of the Order.

“My Lord…” he ventured and heard the same pleading tone that he detected in Kylo’s voice only the previous day. Or was that this morning? No matter, Hux didn’t like the sound of it.

And there it was. He could have looked up a second later and missed it – Snoke’s expression… not fear exactly, but uncomfortable wariness. The expression a fighting dog would have had if it had encountered a wolf, a born leader rather than an impostor.

Hux felt a power skim his thoughts like the surface of a pond, but he was not afraid, not yet, not when the guilt he’d felt for loosing Starkiller transmuted into anger against a poor leader, who was incapable of leading the First Order into an age of glory. He hissed, fists clenching, skin on his knuckles snapping taut with the pressure. “To do rather than to be.” Stood out in his mind like a brand. He’d clawed his way to the top, built the Galaxy’s most sophisticated weapon from blueprints, he had done right by the Order, while Snoke just was a vaguely menacing power, lazily twitching strings from behind the scenes.

The anger brought Hux somewhat to his senses. He was feeling more lucid than he had in days, glaring at Ren who still stood in front of him – as close as Snoke had been sitting. But the memory was not over, it just merged and twisted with reality at odd angles. Ren must’ve been feeding the information to him, since Hux would not have easily forgotten such an altercation. Nor should he have survived it, which begged the question…

“What happened after?”

Kylo shook his head. And was that fear in his eyes? A kind of pained sorrow? Antagonised by it, the General stood up even straighter, clasping his hands behind his back. Did he hold his hands behind his back to exude authority or because they had been bound that way once too many times, the memory embedding itself in his muscles? Hux clutched his hands in front of him, rubbing his wrists – no marks, just the faintest sensation of an unwelcome touch. He needed to know.

“Ren,” decisive, sharp, almost like how he barked that name on the _Finalizer_ , when the Knight was being unruly, “Ren…” weaker now, less sure, tentative, “ _Ren, please…_ ” these were no longer his words, at least Hux couldn’t account for the tone of them, so weak and pleading. Why would he plead with someone who had no influence on his life?

“ _Ren, I’m begging you, stop, please, please…”_ his knees buckled, and Hux slowly sank to the floor, curling in on himself. The unravelling had finally begun, his fraying mind and whatever forces haunted the Fortress met and touched clammy fingers. Images assailed him – the Knight’s high boots and another pair, Lorna’s, with the unmistakable prosthetic, in his line of vision, his body limp and pressed to the floor. Words, more painful than he had an ability to comprehend, and the suggestions that left him broken without a single touch. A mad howling started up, but Hux did not have the presence of mind to register it was him screaming. He would refute anything, do anything if only the pain would stop.

And then it did. Just like that.

Hux sat curled up by the bare wall, Kylo kneeling in front of him, shielding him from the expanse of the corridor. The Knight’s hands were cupping his face gently and there was the same lost, vulnerable look Hux had seen in the shuttle when Ren was asleep.

“It’s over… it’s gone now. I’m so sorry. It was never meant to be like this. But… sometimes it just is. I wish we didn’t have to face these choices. Hell, Hux, I’m sorry. What was I thinking.”

The red-head sat blinking, taking in the soothing voice, not really focusing on the words. That was very good, very good indeed. His head swam a little, like after spending too long a time underwater, but the only thing he could perceive with any clarity was that he felt very bad and now he was feeling alright and that was enough for the moment.

“Did you burn a console again?” Hux asked, more to test his voice that to get a reply. Kylo looked at him as if he suddenly turned into a snake.

“Please don’t go mad on me.”

“Oh no, that’s my mother’s privilege.” The General wanted to laugh but the sound that came out was more a sob. “Why?”

“You can’t handle the memories. Defying Snoke… everything after…” it obviously made Ren uncomfortable speaking about it, even as his body curled protectively over Hux’s.

“After?”

“Hux… I’ve been torturing you for a month. On Snoke’s orders.” When there was no response, Kylo gulped and carried on, “I… see it now. That I’d been following a blind leader. That the Order of Ren is nothing but a toy for Snoke. He bends us this way and that, waiting for a worthy playmate to make an entrance. But we are not taught anything apart from subjugation. You were never like that and that was what scared him. And I… couldn’t break you, even when he ordered me to. I erased your memories after each… session, hoping to preserve enough of your sanity until we could get out of this place.”

Kylo ghosted his fingertips over the other man’s temple, sharing a couple fleeting images. Four knights in a square formation, black-robed against damp walls, Hux kneeling in their midst, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. Then Commander Lorna on a stretcher, a little heel on her prosthesis matching the heel of her boot, her final vanity. Too far gone to rebel overtly, she’d put a lightsaber in her mouth and flipped the switch. Dashes of crimson stood out against her dark skin – a little defiance. At least she would not be present when Hux finally broke, pieces of him scattering on the filthy floor, or delusions of grandeur gone, erased alongside his ambition and the mind that was betrayed by its brilliance.

“I’m sorry.” Those words just did not mean anything to Hux. He allowed his body to relax, melting into the surrounding, limp hands sliding against Ren’s side. He would become part of the Fortress walls, add to the hopelessness of the surroundings and the breaths of damp wind.

It was probably night outside. Not that Kylo cared after a month in this forsaken place. With Hux catatonic in his arms, the man understood with an odd clarity his uncle’s choice of exile. Some actions cannot be forgiven, even if you who committed them is not entirely to blame. And even if you know that forgiveness is impossible, you persevere. That is the light. The part of Ben Solo that stubbornly refused to shut up, no matter how hard Kylo Ren tried to quench it.

In the end, it was a simple decision, really. He only had to torture the man who saved his life to realise what path he needed to take.

“Hux…” he shook the red-head gently, waiting for his eyes to refocus, “let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've spent the past week sobbing into a cookie tin, hence this chapter is all over the place and I'll probably end up editing it heavily, but here you go for now because I need to get the feels out and move on to healing Hux because he deserves love and cuddles


	5. Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Get ready for a soppy spiel.  
> Some really annoying stuff happened while I was in the middle of writing the fic, so the  
> happy ending I promised is just not happening. I'm simply too deep in the self-deprecation hole. Sorry. Furthermore, my style took a skinny-dip  
> in a pool of acid. Trash compactor ahoy!  
> I hate leaving things unfinished, so the last chapter is here. But please treat it as a warm-up  
> piece. I will soon write something actually worth your time.  
> <3 much love

Moving was not an option at the moment. Hux was in that place where he managed to persuade himself he was calm, utterly calm and stable. Nothing mattered, nothing could hurt him.

“Hux.” The shaking became more vigorous, as Kylo started to panic. Or was it his customary state of instability. The ginger rested his forehead against Ren’s shoulder and hummed quietly. Why was this sorry excuse of a Sith trying to pull him somewhere? Over the edge, perhaps.

“We’ll get a shuttle and go. We will have to keep running, evading the Supreme Leader is… difficult.”

He’s not our leader or anyone else’s, not really, Hux noted lazily, closing his eyes.

“But I’ll keep you safe for as long as… Hux?”

Kylo leant as close as he dared to the other man’s face, feeling for a breath, ghosting his own over the General’s semi-parted lips. It was not a kiss exactly, but the tender trepidation hung palpably in the air, binding them more firmly that any promises of succour or allegiance.

Picking Hux up in his arms, Kylo paced down the corridor towards the exit, into the wind-driven rain and the frigid forest, where their shuttle still languished on the landing pad. He willed Hux to wake up, even to shout at him, but that would be proof enough that the man was not beyond salvation. Ren berated himself for allowing Hux to see so many memories, even if the most traumatic ones remained hidden. But the red-head was still breathing, slow and peaceful, as Kylo wrangled his way into the shuttle’s bay.

No one tried to detain them, not even a thread of surveillance wound through the Force, it was almost as if the Knights wanted them to escape. And Snoke… Snoke most likely did not care.

In the stale silence of the shuttle, Ren deposited his burden onto the cot that he himself occupied only a month ago. The sheets had been changed, but the Knight still smelled a whiff of stale blood. Hux wasn’t bleeding, wasn’t injured in any tangible way, but it would have been better if his damage was physical. It would give Kylo something to do – setting bones, bandaging cuts, not looking, not thinking, not feeling this overpowering guilt because everything was his fault. And his responsibility, so he couldn’t even run or throw a tantrum.

Ren was so caught up in his musing he did not notice that the former General had opened his eyes and was watching closely, irises contracted to miniscule dots.

“You’re awake.” The need to say something was excruciating. Hux did not respond, still in that calm place between nirvana and shock. His head was carefully blank even to Kylo’s scrutiny, at least until he decided to speak.

“You really thought me handsome then?” nonsensical little statement. Kylo’s mind rushed brightly with images – the other man curled up at the foot of his bed, outlined by an invisible light source, the line from temple to clavicle a shadowy chasm of unspeakable beauty. Ren swallowed thickly.

“That was early on… I thought you needed something to hang on to, to counteract the pain.” He plucked at Hux’s half-formed notion that the memories were not really his own, “So I fabricated an encounter that you would be able to come back to at need.”

The words felt stiff, not at all like the feelings that propelled them, the desire of comfort, the shame, the hope, the bashful yearning.

Hux sat up fluidly. Already the signs of shock were fading, concealed behind his usual exterior, the bland expressionless mask that was his strength and his downfall. He could persuade himself he was whole and he would. These memories did not need addressing.

“I see.” The read-head’s tone was peaceful too, like a voice-simulation in a hospitality droid. There was no gratitude and the lack of it smarted, but Ren pushed the sentiment down.

“I’ll power up. Manoeuvring into orbit should be easy enough without a co-pilot. Call me if you need me.” Kylo whispered, pressing a kiss into the other man’s knuckles, to give him something more tangible than the memory of a night that never was. Hux tensed, turning his face away sharply to hide the pain and fear that contorted it. How many times did he use Kylo Ren’s name to beg, to cry out in terror when even death was preferable to what was being done to him?

“I… can’t.”

“Oh,” the Knight’s eyes softened as he coaxed Hux to face him again, fingertips ghosting across his cheek, “I’m so sorry. Here, it’s alright. You’re safe. You can call me Ben.”

The former General relaxed a fraction and nodded. Now there was gratitude, a warm pulse, and something else like affection peeking through.

As Ren clambered into the pilot’s seat, he felt lighter than he had in days, fully in control and free, like a child that left home on his own for the first time. He felt more than a mere member of the Knights of Ren, than Snoke’s placid puppet. The shuttle laboured against the gravity pull, its engines revving up as it ploughed through the low clouds. There was still no fire from the ground, nor any visible signs of pursuit on the sensors, and the craft finally broke the stratosphere, Kylo let out a long breath he did not know he was holding. They’d get further from the Object, to the outer bounds of the system and make a hyperspace jump from there. That was the plan, simple enough, yet something made him hesitate.

The same thing drove Hux out of the cramped cabin and into the seat directly behind the pilot, usually occupied by a comms assistant.

“Where to?”

Ren waved his hand vaguely, “Somewhere, anywhere.”

“You feel like it doesn’t matter too.” Hux prodded at his emotions gingerly, not really knowing what to make of them. He knew their names well enough: betrayal, but then he anticipated as much, curiosity at Ren’s new-found affection, fatigue from fighting for so long and not even being aware of it – but came short when trying to truly feel any of them. His skin seemed to fit again, though, or maybe the old layer – the one that contained his role as overseer of Starkiller, superb officer and loyal subordinate – had sloughed away. The new skin was thin and delicate, Hux neither understood nor liked it.

His personal tribulations aside, there was the question of why Snoke did not order their pursuit or destruction. Was this a test for Ren? A means of dispatching them both staged as an accident?

Whatever the reality, they made the jump without any impediment. Within a couple hours of silence Corellian loomed up in the frontal observation panel, sleek and verdant. The pair stopped off in a low-population sector to trade in the shuttle and restock for an onward journey. Though given the state of their finances, Hux would have described the activities as stealing. It wasn’t good, but they were only human – an incredibly liberating thing to be. Gorse and heather were in full flower – swathes of heathland covered in fragrant scrubwood under the vast purplish sky. It is there, on an outcrop overlooking a sea of trembling flowers, that Ben Solo offered a formal apology, on his knees, dramatic as usual. It almost looked like a proposal.

 “In order to forgive you I will have to face what you have done.” Hux’s hands were trembling slightly, “And I will not.”

And that’s that. For once he was able to shift responsibility to someone else. Let Ben live with the guilt of what he had done. Hux enjoyed the lush Corellian summer, even while complaining that the sun burned him to a crisp.

But beyond the superficial bickering there was nothing to talk about, no eagerness to know one another, as all personal questions invariably circled back to the Fortress. Hux occasionally dreamt of the grey rain, but in a detached emotionless fashion.

It was the third day or the fourth of their lounging in the tall heather and sneaking into town for stolen food, staring at clouds, at a loss what to do. Ben kept up a more or less steady stream of chatter, but Hux had been silent for days. Not scared or hurt, just… he didn’t rightly know.

“We’ll go back.” The red-head said quietly, as sure of the fact as of anything in a very long while. The old skin slithered up his torso and limbs, encasing him as a uniform, still ill fitting, it lent strength to his resolve, “We were always meant to. That’s why they didn’t bother shooting.”

Ben Solo propped himself up on his elbow, staring down at Hux in disbelief, “Did you just…”

Then his eyes filled with horror, “He broke you… _I_ did, after all.”

“No.” the other man waved him away impatiently, something of his former manner returning, “But I am still there, walking the corridors, watching your dreams. I would have been in any outcome. Where else would the two of us wake up and matter? Where else would our bond mean anything, where there would be any semblance of meaning behind your touch. Of course we will go back, just to experience the thrill of having each other, of struggling against something. And you can always give me more dreams.”

Hux pushed himself off the ground and pressed his lips to Kylo’s, dry and harsh, without a semblance of care. “Our dreams will be much better than this.”

Kylo remembered the jolt of awareness that raced through them both when he brushed his foot against Hux’s hip, in both their imaginations, that long while ago.

“So…”

“Yes,” the General was smiling, “this is our rightful place.”

They left in the evening. Luckily the shuttle was still in the bay where they had left it, unlocked. The sky was beginning to tinge with reds and oranges, an aggressive precursor of what was to come, or their last view at real colour. Object-3472 was still as grey and rainy, only four days passed, but even if it had been an age, it would not have changed. There was the familiar landing and the two rows of Knights awaiting them. Hux was able to appreciate them now – th emotionless silence that rang out with a total lack of initiative, they were at one with the Force, crystal clear, ready to be filled with the will of their leader, whoever that may be at any given moment.

Snoke was standing by the staircase, in person, his cloak fluttering loosely around a wizened body. He was smiling.

“Welcome back, my Lords.”

And in the dark, interspersed with Kylo’s feverish fantasies, Hux knew nothing more.

**Author's Note:**

> This text is un-beta'd, so constructive criticism/pointing out typos is welcome. I am new to the fandom, so please be gentle (my ego might not take it otherwise and descend into a perpetual tantrum, furniture will suffer). I'll try to keep the updates regular, but if I'm gone for a while - I haven't died or anything, probably just busy with work. More tags/warnings to appear.  
> Enjoy :)


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